


Show Me

by Madeleine_Ward



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Love, M/M, Rimming, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 02:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18129563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madeleine_Ward/pseuds/Madeleine_Ward
Summary: Steve’s hands on Bucky’s hips steer him slowly backwards, until the backs of his knees connect with the mattress. He sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed, their bed, Steve standing caged between his knees. His hands wrap around the backs of Steve’s denim clad thighs; his face pressed against the flat plane of Steve’s stomach, mouthing kisses across his skin. Steve’s hand grasps Bucky’s chin, tilting his face upwards until their eyes meet.“What do you want, Buck?”This question, always this question, asked with soft eyes and hushed tones. Asked with the intent of giving, of fulfilling. Asked, and met always with the same response…'Everything'.





	Show Me

**Author's Note:**

> For my beta-half, who has only ever been an inspiration and source of encouragement.

_Show me._

 

Bucky’s eyes trace the hard lines and soft curves of Steve’s face, so close to his own. His fingertips, metal and flesh, press into the skin of Steve’s back, holding him close, waiting.

 

_Show me all the ways that you love me._

 

Steve’s hands roam slowly across the bare expanse of Bucky’s chest, up over his shoulders, down his arms. He’s taking his time, and Bucky can feel his pulse rate hiking with every languid, deliberate pass of Steve’s hands over his body. It makes him shiver, feeling Steve’s eyes on him, his gaze travelling up and down, drinking in the sight he has seen so many times before. So very many times, and yet every time he gets that look, the one that says he can’t believe he gets to see this, to touch this. It makes Bucky’s blood sing.

“God, Buck…” Steve sighs, shaking his head softly, his stare sweeping Bucky’s form from hips to lips. He wears his heart on his sleeve, every emotion washing over his face, a running commentary without ever having to speak – Love when he looks at Bucky’s face, self-satisfaction when he makes Bucky sigh, heat when his eyes travel down Bucky’s chest and past his naval…

 

_Show me that this body is good for something other than war._

 

He’s close enough that the barest tilt of his head would bring his lips against Bucky’s, but he won’t kiss him, not yet. Steve’s game is one of anticipation, and Bucky _lives_ for it. Lives for the slowness, the depth of intention behind Steve’s every touch, the openness and sincerity on Steve’s face as he looks at him.

There had been a time when it had almost been too much, the weight of Steve’s adoration. It had felt like too much to lose, too vulnerable a position to be in to just stand there and let Steve love him exactly as he was. Because how do you show someone all of yourself and believe they’ll accept it when _you_ haven’t? How do you stand in front of someone who knows everything about you, about what you’ve been, what you’ve done, what’s been done to _you,_ and let them treat you like you’re whole when so much of you is smoke and mirrors?

One step at a time.

Little by little, Bucky had learned to withstand the tides of anxiety and the fears of inadequacy. Had learned how to be still and trust, just trust. The old script would still play across his subconscious from time to time, the script that had never needed to be spoken because Steve had always seemed to know what this closeness means to Bucky, what he needs from him in these most intimate moments.

 

_Show me that I’m good enough._

_Remind me that I’m still me._

_Show me what’s on the other side of vulnerability, what that fear can give way to if I’m brave enough to sit with it long enough to let it pass._

 

What once had been an urgent roar now merely a whisper – still present, but content to remain a quiet hum somewhere in the background.

 

_Show me how it feels to be respected. To feel like my body is mine, that you understand what it means for me to share it with you._

 

Steve ghosts his lips up the side of Bucky’s jaw, a trail of warm air up to the delicate skin behind his ear. He whispers against Bucky’s skin that he wants him, that he loves him, that he’s waited all day to get him alone and show him all over again how he feels about him. Bucky lets his head fall back, his breath hitching at the murmured promises of things to come. His hands wander up and down the broad planes of Steve’s back, fingertips raking lightly across his warm flesh. Steve arches into the touch and presses a kiss to the side of Bucky’s neck, and then another, working his way down. The faintest graze of teeth on Bucky’s shoulder draws a gasp, and Steve smiles against his skin.

His lips brush feather light across Bucky’s collar bone, his arms wrapping around Bucky’s waist and holding him tight. He runs so hot, his skin a familiar heat against Bucky’s as their bodies press together. Bucky feels boneless in his hold, willing and waiting to be swept along by the current of Steve’s want. He drinks in the scent of Steve’s hair, his skin, the sound of his soft exhales. Everything about him feels like home.

 

_Remind me that I can be touched for the purpose of intimacy and exploration, for my own pleasure and for yours._

 

Steve’s hands on Bucky’s hips steer him slowly backwards, until the backs of his knees connect with the mattress. He sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed, _their_ bed, Steve standing caged between his knees. His hands wrap around the backs of Steve’s denim clad thighs; his face pressed against the flat plane of Steve’s stomach, mouthing kisses across his skin. Steve’s hand grasps Bucky’s chin, tilting his face upwards until their eyes meet.

“What do you want, Buck?”

This question, always this question, asked with soft eyes and hushed tones. Asked with the intent of giving, of fulfilling. Asked, and met always with the same response… _Everything._

Steve leans in close, hand still on Bucky’s jaw. He’s wearing that almost-smile he gets when he can feel Bucky’s guard drop, when he knows he’s got him in that space where he’s open and willing and wanting…It’s the closest Steve Rogers ever comes to being smug. His stare lands on Bucky’s mouth and his lips follow, pressing gentle and slow against Bucky’s. Restrained, unhurried kisses that take Bucky’s breath away and have him tugging at Steve’s body to try and urge him closer. His fingers thread through Steve’s hair, the tip of his tongue sweeping across Steve’s bottom lip, but Steve won’t be rushed; he just continues his slow, measured worship of Bucky’s lips with closed-mouth kisses until Bucky is restless, shifting and huffing impatient sounds.

 

_Show me where my edge is, and then make me wait before you tip me over it._

 

 “Steve…”

It’s a warning as much as it is a plea, but Steve knows where the line is. Just as frustration begins to colour the anticipation, Steve grasps the back of his neck and strokes his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, swallowing the relieved groan that escapes Bucky’s lips.

It’s an addictive kind of power, knowing all the ways to pick someone apart, and it’s in moments like these that Steve can’t help but revel in the way he just _knows_ Bucky, knows how to push his buttons, how to turn him needy and pliable in his hands. He knows the exact shiver it will incite when his teeth tug gently on Bucky’s bottom lip; knows the flush that will be on Bucky’s cheeks before he pulls back and looks at him. It’s as familiar to him as the sound of Bucky’s footsteps or the pitch of his laugh, because this is what they do. This game is as integral to their relationship as the discussions that wind their way into the small hours of the morning, the seamless way they move around each other, the time they spend in each other’s presence doing nothing at all.

 

_Show me that you see me._

 

He sinks to his knees between Bucky’s spread thighs, his warm blue stare fixed on Bucky’s face, his fingertips trailing down his chest and stomach until he reaches the waistband of his sweatpants. Bucky leans back on his elbows and lifts his hips, a wordless affirmation of consent, and Steve slowly works the fabric off of his body, lavishing attention across every inch of skin he exposes on his way down. Kisses across Bucky’s lower abdomen…soft sweeps of his tongue over his hip bones…bruises sucked into the skin of his inner thigh, up close to his groin, marks that won’t last nearly as long as Bucky wants them to…Bucky watches all of it intently, eyes locked on Steve’s mouth working its way down his body.

It’s surreal to him, how much Steve wants him, the pride he takes in knowing how to unravel him. He approaches it the same way he does every other mission – with dedication, determination, and unwavering commitment to his desired outcome. Which, in these moments, is simply that Bucky would feel every bit of what he means to him, that he would know that for Steve, there is only him. Has only ever been him.

Bucky drops his weight back against the mattress, his eyes drifting closed as Steve’s mouth finds its way to his cock. Slow, teasing strokes of his tongue up the shaft, lips closing around the head and sucking, torturously soft. His breaths grow shallower with every caress of Steve’s tongue, every one of Steve’s quiet moans that reverberate against him inside his mouth. It’s so much, and not nearly enough. He wants Steve’s body against him, wants to be pinned by his warmth and his weight and his strength. He wants to sink his fingertips into the muscles of Steve’s back and feel every last twitch and flex as Steve loses it on top of him, inside of him.

 

S _how me all the things this body is capable of feeling, because I don’t trust anyone but you to do it._

 

When Steve dips his head lower and flicks his tongue against his asshole, Bucky’s entire body quakes. “ _Jesus_ , Steve…” He fists the fabric of the comforter beneath him in his hands, trying the still the shivers rolling through him as Steve slowly works his tongue inside him. His tongue, and then his fingertips, and Bucky is a shaking, panting mess for him.

“Fuck, I want you…” The words leave Bucky’s lips as a strung-out sigh, his fingertips raking and tugging through Steve’s hair. It’s a gesture that no longer requires explanation between them, and Steve needs no further coercion to stand and strip the remainder of his own clothing and straddle Bucky’s naked, splayed-out form where he lays. He plants his elbows on the pillow either side of Bucky’s head and drops his weight forward, pinning Bucky down with the weight of his body.

“Like this?” He breathes against Bucky’s ear, feels Bucky’s sharp intake of breath as he rolls his hips down against him, “…this how you want me?”

The slide of his cock, still slick with saliva and precum, against Steve’s is _almost_ enough to get him to give in, to just start rocking against him until they’re both moaning and shuddering and coming all over each other. But that’s not what either of them want, not really. He can _hear_ the self-satisfaction in Steve’s voice, the unspoken _ask me to fuck you_ behind his words. He knows that Steve needs to hear him say it, needs Bucky to tell him exactly what he wants. He wants to hear it, because he wants to _give_ it, exactly fucking right.

Bucky grips Steve’s hips and pulls him down hard against himself. “I want you inside me…” He keeps his eyes locked on Steve’s face as he says it, watches his eyes darken and his lips part in a low groan.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me, Buck…” Steve shifts himself to settle his hips between Bucky’s thighs, hitching one of Bucky’s legs up around his waist, “…hearing you moan, feeling you shake, watching you come…” He drops his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck, breathing in the warm scent of his skin as he presses into him, sinking inch by inch into the tight heat of his body, “Fuck, I love it. I love all of it. I can’t believe I get to do this with you.”  

Bucky can only moan, Steve’s every word pooling as a new heat between his thighs, heightening the sensation of Steve rocking slowly, rhythmically into him. He’s pressing kisses against Bucky’s neck, his shoulder, his lips. His hand is wrapped around the back of Bucky’s thigh, holding it against himself as he moves inside him, again and again hitting the spot that makes Bucky shudder.

“How does it feel?” Steve hums against his ear, his voice growing labored and unsteady.

His body is pressed flush against Bucky’s, all Bucky can see and hear and feel. He can feel the increasingly erratic thud of Steve’s heartbeat against his own, can feel the warmth of his shivering exhales ghosting across his skin, and hear every pleasured sound that falls from his lips. It’s intimacy, saturating and overwhelming and everything Bucky once thought he could never have.

“Feels like you love me…” He says simply, quietly, hoping the words are enough but knowing they never could be, not when it comes to describing how Steve makes him feel, what he gives to him, what he’s healed within him.

Steve goes still, raises his head up to meet Bucky’s gaze. His eyes are so filled with affection, devotion, it makes Bucky’s chest ache. “I do, Buck,” he whispers, his fingertips gently brushing the hair back off Bucky’s forehead, “how could I not?”

Bucky breathes in deep, lets the truth of it settle around him, within him. He silently acknowledges the part of himself that will always try to shrink away from this, that doesn’t want to believe he deserves it, and hands it this new piece of evidence that just maybe, it’s wrong. He commits to memory the way Steve is looking at him, the unfiltered admiration in his eyes. He drinks in the feelings of warmth, of closeness and safety, and files them away among the many, many other moments of his life with Steve. Moments that are remaking him, renewing him, putting him back together.

“I love you, too…” He breathes, his fingertips digging into Steve’s back, his hips rolling against him in a wordless plea to keep moving.

Steve looks down at him, a smile pulling up the corners of his lips.

“I know, Bucky.”


End file.
